


To the End

by Thorinsmut



Series: Free Orcs AU [13]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle, Complete, Gen, M/M, One Shot, friends to the end, the final chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erebor never fell.</p><p>While the ring quest is happening, King Thorin stands before the army of Mordor.<br/>But he does not stand alone. </p><p>The final installment of this AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the End

**Author's Note:**

> Do you see this fic tagged for Major Character Death?  
> Yes?  
> Good.  
> You may now proceed to read things I wept manly tears while writing.

The power of Mordor was rising, and Erebor stood against it and the sweet-poison words of it’s messenger.

Erebor stood against the power of Sauron, and when an army of Orcs marched to her gates King Thorin himself walked out to meet them.

He was old, he moved slower and his hair was pure white but his eyes were undimmed, his shoulders unbowed.

He strode out to meet the Orcs, resplendent in his crown and armor, his sword glowing faint blue at his side, and the leader of the Orcish army stepped forth to meet him.

“You came.” Thorin said, the deep resonance of his voice only growing richer with age, wearing command on his shoulders as easily as the white wolf furs he dressed in.

General Azog smiled, lined and wrinkled with age but no less strong for it.

“Gundabad has not forgotten her friends.” He answered.

There was a pause, their eyes meeting, before Thorin swept his crown from his head and shoved it into Fili’s surprised grip – stepping forward with his arms outstretched.

“My old friend…” he said, and Azog met him. They knocked foreheads and pressed cheeks in full sight of their peoples – breathing each other’s scent and holding tight.

“Come…” Thorin said, accepting his crown back as he smiled his welcome, “There is little enough time to plan our strategies, but we will take the time to write up a treaty. It is past time we had a formal alliance. The mountains of Erebor and Gundabad will stand together as sisters in these evil times.”

Thorin gestured for his Generals, and General Azog to the commanders under him, and side by side they retired to plan their strategies against the oncoming forces of Mordor.

.

The armies of Mordor swept up to the gates of Erebor, and Erebor stood ready to meet them with axe and shield – bow and arrow and windlance.

The armies roared their defiance at each other – and the free Orcs of Gundabad closed in from the sides. They stood high on the hills, sharp-gleaming, their spiked armor painted in brilliant colors and set with cut stones to glitter like stars.

The ranks of Mordor slaves boiled, screamed – then in ones and twos and larger handfuls broke away to flee.

Their own people opened fire on the deserters – the ones who’s brave mothers had whispered the forbidden legend of the free Orcs into their ears – the ones who had heard rumor of the traitors who broke away, the war they’d fought, and thought secretly to themselves that they would have fought on the  _other_  side if they had been there. Those who saw a  _chance_  for the first time in their lives.

They scattered in range of their own army’s arrows to make smaller targets, and clumped back together into groups in fear as they approached the armies of the free Orcs.

Half-starved and desperate they threw down their weapons and flung themselves at the feet of the free Orcs.

“Take us!” they begged, those who had voice still in their fear looking into the strong and healthy faces of the free Orcs.

“My sisters and brothers…” Bolg stepped forward and took to one knee, so he did not tower above them, smiling as they cringed in respect and terror. “Welcome. You are  _free_.”

The ranks of the free Orcs parted to let them through. They were given food and  _bulmos akrum_  from the free Orcs’ own stores to restore their strength after the murderous length of their forced march, and most of them asked to be painted to match and took their weapons back up to stand and fight.

.

The fight was long and brutal.

Even with the ranks of their allies the free Orcs swelling as more and more of the enemy defected to them, their losses were terrible before the commanders of Mordor were defeated and the enemy were routed.

Those who surrendered were gathered up by the free Orcs, who had also asked to lead the teams sweeping the countryside for those who’d fled.

Fili allowed the healer to bandage the cut on his arm, a nasty ragged thing that would take time to heal but he was assured would not take the use of his arm from him. He smiled at Kili beside him, and his brother smiled wanly back at him from his drugged rest. Kili had taken a few arrows, but he would mend with time.

A soldier came up, her armor battered but herself unharmed, saying something quiet to the healers before they let her approach Fili.

She bowed to him deeply,  _too_  deeply, and he  _knew_  even before she spoke.

“Thorin has been found… your Majesty.”

Beside him Kili made a broken sound, and Fili bit his lip as he closed his eyes against it – just for a moment.

Thorin had led into the thick of it, of course. He had a fire in him, but he was _old_. Finer warriors had died, but no finer a Dwarf.

To die in battle… it was a fine death. It was how Thorin would have wanted it, rather than to waste with age.

Prince Frerin and Lady Dis had made their intention to abdicate in Fili’s favor at the end of Thorin’s life official decades ago. There  _was_  no one between Fili and the throne now. He was, effectively, King now. The coronation would be nothing more than an excuse for a celebration for the people.

Fili breathed deep, settling the mantle of calm surety Thorin had worn over his own shoulders as he lifted his head and stood.

“Take me to him.” he asked, and it rolled out from him like a command. The healers who would otherwise have forbidden him let him go with only a warning not to overexert himself.

The Dwarves needed to see their King… and that was Fili now.

The walk to where Thorin lay was slow, to accommodate Fili’s weakness from blood loss, and doubled to allow him to speak words of encouragement to the exhausted soldiers they came across.

The soldier hung back when they reached the place, and he left her with a grateful squeeze to her shoulder as he approached.

Bolg of the free Orcs was there already, sitting with one hand resting on his father’s bloodied chest. His face was turned up to sing quietly to the cold stars – and Fili had never learned Orcish but there was no denying the sorrow in his song.

Beside Azog was Thorin, and Fili lowered himself to sit beside his mother’s eldest brother.

His King.

Fili carefully rearranged Thorin’s limbs, as much as he could with only one arm to use, and adjusted his cloak and furs to cover the worst of his awful injuries. He placed Thorin’s sword on his breast, hands crossed over it. Even so broken, Thorin still looked like a King, and Fili did not know how  _he_  would ever measure up to such a leader.

Fili gently touched Thorin’s white hair, brushing it back from his face. He looked so peaceful, a relaxed calmness to his features he’d  _never_  worn in life – not even in sleep – and for a moment he was not Fili’s King. He was the Dwarf who’d bounced Fili on his knee to tell stories, the Dwarf who’d forged Fili’s first real knives, the Dwarf who’d taught him his first metal work, the Dwarf who’d worn the person of ‘Thori’ with a laugh in his eyes as he took ‘Firi’ out to have a drink in taverns that wouldn’t be suiting for a prince.

Fili cupped one side of Thorin’s cold face as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against the brow of Thorin’s crowned helm.

His tears fell against Thorin’s face unchecked for what felt like a long time and yet not long at all, alone with the sounds of the clean up distant beneath the mourning of Bolg’s rough song.

…but the King could not mourn forever. He would be needed soon enough.

Fili sat back and wiped the tears from Thorin’s cold face – and then his own.

Bolg’s song was over, and Fili met his gaze across the bodies of General and King. The massive Orc had taken a terrible wound across his head and face that looked as though it might have blinded one of his eyes – but it had stopped bleeding on its own, untended. The strength and ferocity of the Orcish warriors had impressed Fili, with the injuries they shrugged off and fought through. They were truly fortunate allies for such terrible times as these.

“I mourn for your loss.” Fili said, staying just… just a  _little_  longer at Thorin’s side. Bolg’s hand still rested on Azog’s chest, but he smiled at Fili through the obvious pain of his injuries.

“My father died  _free_.” he answered, and there was no mistaking the pride that roughened his voice, “He  _chose_  what battles were worth his life. He fought to give us  _all_  the choice.”

Fili nodded his understanding, gently smoothing Thorin’s beard.

“He was a fierce warrior, to be proud of.” Bolg said, nodding to Thorin when Fili glanced back up. “He fought to the end. He and my father… they defeated the enemy commanders together before they were overwhelmed.”

Fili nodded again. Thorin always  _would_  drive to the heart. He knew no other way.

“I am glad a warrior like Azog was beside him to the end.” Fili answered. He would have been himself if he could, but he had been ordered to another part of the battle – Thorin keeping him safer than he kept himself. “Erebor will not forget… that Gundabad answered when we called.”

“Thorin will be remembered. We will sing of him in our halls.” Bolg answered, “The Dwarven King who has always been a true friend to Gundabad. He brought us food when we starved – because Azog asked him. No one believed he would, but Azog never doubted. And Thorin came. He pulled a sledge _himself_  through the snows of the fell winter to bring us food. We were proud to answer his call.”

Bolg gently stroked the side of Azog’s face with the back of his hand, his sorrow so sharp Fili had to look away.

Back to Thorin’s peaceful face.

“They were friends.” Fili said, trying to hold just a little longer to this quiet pocket of time granted him to mourn, before he left to do all the King needed to do after such a battle.

Bolg was quiet for a long moment, and then he gently shifted Azog to the side, reaching beneath him.

He got the knife from the small of Azog’s back, holding it in his hands for a moment before he handed it to Fili.

“My father’s favorite knife since I was a child – before you were born.” he said. Fili accepted it hesitantly with his good hand, unsure what he was supposed to see of it.

It was a blackened steel knife – not common in Dwarf smithing, but Dwarf work it clearly was. It was well balanced, but large and heavy to suit Azog’s size.

It was a fine knife, well-maintained, and Fili stopped for a long moment when he finally found the small hidden maker’s mark.

Thorin’s mark.

Such a gift… their friendship must have been much closer than Fili had ever guessed. Closer than the polite diplomatic meetings he had witnessed would suggest.

And lasting so many years.

Fili handed it back to Bolg. The circle of privacy around them was breaking, with soldiers both Dwarvish and Orcish approaching. Thorin would be borne back to the mountain to return to the stone along with so many fine warriors – and the Orcs would burn their dead as was the custom of their people. Fili would have to go and be King now. He was needed.

“We will honor the friendship of Thorin with Azog.” Fili said, and he felt again the calm sure mantle of the King resting on his shoulders so it rolled out like a command to the approaching soldiers, “We will be proud to honor the alliance they signed on the eve of battle. If Gundabad needs us, we will answer.”

Bolg nodded to him, more than half a bow. Fili softly touched Thorin’s cold cheek one last time before he levered himself to his feet, steadying himself against the throbbing pain of his injured arm, and walked out to be the King his people needed after such a terrible battle

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading this AU.  
> It was supposed to be a porny-one shot... but it grew. Just little bit.  
> Thanks for sticking with me.  
> There will be no more stories in this AU, but there are a couple drabbles and headcanons I posted on my tumblr for it that you can find here:  
> http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/tagged/free-orc-drabbles
> 
> Thank you again. I love you all.  
> -Ts


End file.
